


and the beast from the sea

by flirtygaybrit



Category: Actor RPF, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Character Bleed, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flirtygaybrit/pseuds/flirtygaybrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragon has always loved performing before an audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the beast from the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Am I a sea, or a dragon, that thou settest a watch over me?

The bar is slick with sweat in the Dragon’s hands. The muscles in his arms and chest scream as he lowers the bar, slow and steady, as parallel to the ground as he can manage. The bar goes up even more slowly, swaying a bit, fighting against gravity and fatigue as his trembling arms threaten to bring the bar crashing down onto his chest. He has never lifted this much before and it’s nearly too heavy for him to raise now.

_You can’t lift it, but I can._

He pushes with all of his strength, feet planted firmly on the ground on either side of the bench and arms shaking with exertion, up, up, up and back until the bar clangs into the rack, echoing sharply in the empty room. His breathing is harsh and he’s drenched in sweat, his shirt long since discarded on the floor, and his muscles are aching with the efforts of his workout. He feels more immense than ever but he feels calm, too, a quiet sense of power as deep and dark and dangerous as the sea, waves swelling greater with each heavy breath that drags air burning into his lungs. He feels the strength of the Dragon coiled deep inside him, thrumming through his veins.

He sits up and sees himself, glistening body reflected in the full-length mirror leaned against the wall. It’s only been a week but his arms are noticeably thicker, solid to the touch, and his chest too looks more muscular, his pectorals well-defined and slick with sweat.

The Dragon _is_ awe-inspiring.

From somewhere in the corner of the room comes the sound of a door opening, then a quieter sound of bare feet padding again the floor. He focuses on his reflection, his shorn head, his face unmarked, jaw rough with stubble after fourteen hours away from a razor, his chest flushed and sweat-soaked like the rest of his body. There's a feeling like resurfacing, a breath of fresh air that’s not fully related to the steadying breaths he’s currently taking and then he is Richard once more, bench-pressing two-fifty at a quarter to two in the morning in the middle of a room he had requested and decorated specifically for the purpose of doing just that.

Richard uses the mirror to glance up at the person stepping up behind him – someone wearing his own sweatpants, no less; Lee’s usual late-night casual attire.

“How much do you have on there?” Lee asks.

“Erm, two hundred and fifty,” Richard replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He swings his leg over the bench and sits sideways on it, and Lee’s eyebrows jump toward his hairline, impressed.

Richard could be more impressed. The Dragon had lifted more than that. “I was aiming for three hundred,” he explains, “but...”

Lee whistles and ducks under the bar to carefully take a seat next to Richard, who is now embarrassed by the amount of sweat he’s left on the bench rather than being fifty pounds short of his unnecessary weight-lifting goal. Lee doesn’t seem to notice, or more likely doesn’t seem to mind. He glances sideways at the long mirror that stands against the wall at the foot of the bench and then brings his gaze back to Richard, who offers a shy smile.

“For the character,” he explains.

Lee nods slowly. “Vain?” he asks. Richard isn’t sure that he’s had time to even read the book, with the flurry of activity he’s got going down in Atlanta for the second series of Halt.

Richard shakes his head quickly. To call Francis Dolarhyde vain would be to greatly misunderstand him, and he only wants to be understood. “No, not vain, he has a… a bit of a compulsion to maintain his own… it’s a bit compensatory, for his looks,” he says carefully, the sibilant _s_ unfamiliar on his tongue. He’s used to talking to Bryan, who already has his own vast understanding of Dolarhyde and seems to be able to look into Richard’s ears and see the Dragon shining through. He wants to tell Lee more, wants to well and properly explain how Dolarhyde’s obsession with remaining in peak physical form is not so much about vanity as it is a remnant of his military background, a way to emulate the power of Great Red Dragon depicted in Blake’s works, a nod to the same sort of physical compensation seen in body-builders with self-esteem issues, and also a way to spend himself, to find total physical exhaustion — but Lee’s only been here less than three hours and already Richard has shut himself away, mainly in body but also certainly in mind, and has quite possibly earned himself the title of World’s Worst Boyfriend.

Lee raises an eyebrow, something like amusement curling the corners of his lips. “Sorry,” Richard tells him, sheepish.

Whether Lee understands exactly what he’s apologizing for, he can’t tell, but the way Lee leans his body into Richard’s and offers him the sweetest smile before pressing a kiss to his temple and replying, “I’d love to hear more later” makes Richard think he’s probably been forgiven anyway.

“Later,” Richard agrees, and is curious suddenly because Lee hasn’t leaned away, despite the fact that Richard’s skin is still warm and sweaty and probably rather unpleasant to be pressed up against right now. “Were you getting impatient?”

“Impatient? No, of course not,” Lee says, rubbing his hands together, “no, I just wanted to surprise you.”

It’s Richard’s turn to raise a brow. The surprise isn’t that Lee’s here, since they’ve been planning this weekend in Toronto since Richard had visited him two weeks before in Atlanta and Richard had picked Lee up at the Pearson International himself earlier in the evening — it must be something else.

“A surprise,” he echoes, believing absolutely no part of that ‘not impatient’ claim because Lee has a terrible habit of constantly looking like he’s planning something nefarious, and usually that assumption isn’t very far off. And besides, Lee’s eyes had flickered toward the beads of sweat making their way down Richard’s throat one too many times for him to truly believe that Lee had come just to surprise him mid-workout. “And what did you plan to surprise me with?”

The lecherous look Lee gives him tells him all he needs to know. Richard does his best to keep an even expression. It’s a two-man game.

“Okay,” Lee laughs, “fine. I was hoping to catch you in the middle of your workout, but… okay, I know, but _listen_ to me,” he insists, all smiles and lighthearted tones despite his attempt to turn the conversation solemn, and Richard can’t help but laugh along with him.

“You’re a bit late for that,” Richard informs him, and Lee’s grin nearly falters – until his gaze turns to the bar sitting on the rack behind Richard, and oh, he knows exactly where this is going to lead.

Unfortunately, he wants to say, his workout is done and he doesn’t want to risk over-exerting himself. But Richard can see over Lee’s shoulder, too. The mirror stands against the wall, watchful as ever. He meets Lee’s gaze again. Had his pupils been so large before?

Richard wets his lips. The Dragon has always loved performing before an audience.

Lee stands and makes his way to the head of the bench, just behind the bar, and Richard settles back into place on his back, scooting up until the bar is just over his face and Lee’s body is a solid wall behind him, a shadow looming just beyond his head where he stands opposite the mirror.

“I’ll spot you,” Lee suggests.

Richard can feel his heart pumping faster already, his nervous system picking up once again after a brief moment of relaxation. He focuses on a spot on the ceiling and reaches up to grasp the bar, wraps his fingers around the textured metal that has since cooled in the air, not pushing, only holding. His palms are sweating again, though they may simply not have stopped.

“Do you see?” he asks, unable to help himself. His fingers tighten on the bar and he takes deep, steady breaths. His heart is loud. _Yes?_

“Mhmm,” says Lee above him. “I’m ready when you are.”

Richard lifts the bar and holds it above his head, then lowers it, steady, parallel to the ground. His biceps are bulging, the muscle belly solid as iron and quivering in the light. He breathes hard through his mouth, brings the bar just above the center of his chest, and then back up, slow, trembling, aching in his triceps and pectorals until his elbows are fully extended once more.

Sweat beads on his forehead, his neck, prickling his chest and back with heat. The heat of the Dragon swirls within him, too, in his belly and at the base of his spine, embers coaxed into an inferno.

He brings the bar down again, the muscles in his shoulders bunching against the damp bench beneath him as his shoulders retract. The bar pauses at the bottom, threatening to follow gravity’s pull and crush his ribcage. Raising it is significantly more difficult, bringing a roar of blood in his ears and clenched teeth and a grunt as his biceps and triceps scream and somebody says _you can’t lift it_ as the bar rises ever so slowly back up.

“You’ve got this, I’ve got you, you’re doing great,” Lee voice murmurs, soothing. “Just one more, you can do it.”

Wave after wave of heat washes over him. His arms are huge, straining, glistening with sweat before his audience. He is pumped up, verging on the edge of total exhaustion.

He can’t lift it again. But the Dragon can.

_One more._

“I can’t,” he says. His breathing is labored. The bar sways above him.

“Hey, it’s okay, I can take it—"

_No. I can._

The bar steadies, lowers. His chest is heaving and the effort of raising the bar rips a harsh noise from his throat that mirrors the screaming in his arms and chest. A little further and the bar clangs into the rack, and is still.

For several long moments there is only the sound of his breathing, a pounding in his temples, a thrumming in his face, his neck, his torso – and the smug voice of the Dragon. _Easy._

“Easy,” echoes the shadow standing over him. He had forgotten about his audience for a moment, caught up in regulating his breathing and his heartbeat once again and focused on the burn in his chest. “It sure didn’t look easy.” The shadow kneels at the head of the bench, head bowed in worship, and leans over him. Then, with breath hot on his face and fingers on either side of his head tilting his chin up, the shadow kisses him.

The effect is instantaneous. Richard can’t help but moan against Lee’s mouth, awkward though the angle is, his fingers sliding through Lee’s hair and over the back of his neck as he resurfaces, his consciousness gasping for air while the Dragon snarls and threatens to pull him below once more.

“It was really fucking hot,” Lee whispers against his lips, and Richard is left breathless as Lee kisses him again, sloppy and more tongue than anything but enough to send a fresh wave of heat through Richard’s body.

Lee’s hands slide further down, past his neck and over his damp chest, blunt nails scraping slowly over one of Richard’s nipples while Lee’s mouth moves to the corner of his jaw. Richard tilts his head back obligingly and Lee’s tongue slides over the solid line of muscle in his neck, hot and soft as he dips his tongue into the hollow at the base of Richard’s throat.

“Oh, God,” Richard breathes, shuddering as Lee’s nails rake over his chest again, harder this time. When he raises his head he can see Lee half bent over him in the mirror, his eyes hooded and dark and fixated on the tent in Richard’s shorts.

“You’re gorgeous,” Lee is saying, mouthing along his collarbone, “Jesus, Richard, how are you so fucking hot, I w—"

Lee grunts as Richard fists a hand in Lee’s hair and pulls him forward, growling, “Come up, come here, get up —" Lee nearly falls over him, ungraceful and hurried in his rush to swing a leg over the bench and settle his weight in Richard’s lap. There he sits, face flushed and hair messed, eyes darting back and forth to take in the glistening curves of Richard’s torso and arms. Somewhere within him the Dragon tugs at his consciousness like an undercurrent, delighting in the attention.

“Holy shit,” Lee says, and leans down to slot their mouths together properly. His lips are warm and pliant against Richard’s and he tastes faintly of salt. Richard slides his palms over Lee’s thighs and tugs at the hem of his shirt and hurriedly, Lee pulls it off, revealing a series of marks – suck marks, livid bruises along his collarbone and sternum that Richard had started on the moment they were behind the closed door of Richard’s hotel room, and makes a show of arching his back as he grinds his ass slowly against Richard’s aching cock, one hand braced against the bench and another roaming greedily over Richard’s stomach. Richard nearly shudders at the contact, a low groan reverberating in his throat as Lee rocks against him with careful movements, but through the haze in his mind he thinks it’s very unfair that Lee gets to have all the fun. Richard palms over the front of Lee’s borrowed sweatpants and is rewarded with a jerk of Lee’s hips and a needy whine that Richard licks out of his mouth with a pleased hum when Lee leans down to cover Richard's body with his own.

Richard draws Lee’s lower lip between his teeth and presses the heel of his hand against Lee’s cock again. Lee’s groan echoes off the walls, louder than even the Dragon’s pleased sounds.

“Fuck, Rich,” he hisses. Richard’s hand dips below the waist of his sweatpants and curls firmly around Lee’s cock, and Lee’s fingers tighten in turn around his bicep. “Fuck me, I need you to fuck me right here, I need…”

He shudders again at the rough drag of Richard’s hand over his cock and grinds himself down against Richard’s lap. Richard’s arms are trembling again.

“I want to,” Richard whispers, “We could go —"

“No, no,” Lee interrupts, and kisses him again briefly. “Right here, Rich, I can ride you, I’ll ride you into fucking bench. Please.” The head of his cock is slick beneath Richard’s thumb and he’s breathing hard against Richard’s mouth.

Richard’s brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?” He can see Lee’s mouth spread into a grin and realises after a split second that he may not really be the one in charge after all.

“I’m ready,” he says breathlessly, “I got ready before I came in. You could fuck me right here, just like this. I could let you watch me,” he adds, voice dropping impossibly deep. Richard feels it vibrating in his chest and it seems to follow a direct line to his cock, too. “Do you want that?”

Richard turns his head slightly. He can see the mirror just beyond Lee’s body, can see the muscles shifting in Lee’s back and shoulders as he rolls his hips against Richard’s palm. Slowly, having finally received the message loud and clear, Richard slips his hand further down. Lee has to lift himself a little and angle his hips to accommodate Richard’s hand, mouth falling open and breath hitching as Richard cradles and kneads his balls first, and then slides his fingers over the slickness between Lee’s legs where he’s already worked himself open. Lee’s eyes close and he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down as far as he can to let Richard’s hand move more freely, and he gives a keening noise when Richard sinks two fingers into him in one smooth motion.

He really must admire Lee’s ingenuity.

“Oh, fuck,” Lee groans, letting his forehead fall against Richard’s shoulder. His body is half-draped over Richard’s and he can feel Lee’s thighs trembling on either side of his wrist as he struggles to hold himself up. “Fuck, shit, that’s — can you…”

Richard curls his fingers experimentally. In the mirror, Lee’s back arches and he shudders, breath hot against Richard’s collarbone as he moans, his muscles twisting and tensing beneath unmarked flesh as Richard works his fingers deeper into him.

The waves are swelling and the Dragon tugs at him. _Do you feel this?_

Lee’s nails dig into his bicep. _You do, I know it._ Richard’s fingers curl again and Lee hisses, “Yes, fuck.”

“I want to bend you over the bench,” Richard breathes suddenly. Lee clenches around his fingers and presses his mouth against Richard’s chest. The muscles in the back of his arm stand out in the mirror, straining with the force of holding himself up.

“Yeah, please,” Lee says, voice rough and barely audible over the rush of blood and the roar of the Dragon in Richard’s ears. He whines a little when Richard removes his fingers.

“Get up,” he instructs, and Lee obeys, sliding off his lap with just a bit more grace than before. Lee reaches into his pocket and pulls out what turns out to be a travel packet of lube (he may be filthy but he’s absolutely brilliant), but Richard sees nothing else.

“Nope, this is all I brought,” Lee says, apparently having read Richard’s mind. Richard sits up and watches as Lee shoves his sweatpants down his thighs and kneels down, spreading them out on the ground like a protective mat alongside the bench. “I didn’t think we’d need anything else.”

Richard wets his lips. “You mean…”

Lee kneels before the bench like he’s about to pray at it and rests his chin in one hand. “Surprise,” he says fondly, eyes crinkled at the corners. Bastard.

Not about to be outdone, Richard stands and takes the packet that Lee holds out. Instead of taking his place behind Lee, however, he moves toward the end of the bench. He lifts the mirror gingerly by the edges and carries it to the other side of the room, opposite where Lee’s kneeling, and props it up carefully against the wall.

 _Surprise_ , echoes the Dragon.

“That’s not very fair,” Lee says as Richard makes his way back toward him, but he notices that Lee’s eyes are drawn to the mirror now, watching with great interest as Richard stands behind him and pulls his shorts down, slicking his cock with the extra lube.

He then notices that the Dragon strikes a rather imposing figure standing over Lee, tall and muscular, cock shining and flushed within his grasp. He strokes himself experimentally and Lee’s eyes follow his arm, the controlled movement of his hand.

He has every reason to want to watch.

“Rich,” Lee murmurs, but to no response. He leans forward on his elbows and spreads his thighs, ass sticking out obscenely – the perfect position to pay tribute to the Dragon. “Come on.”

 _Take him_ , urges the Dragon.

“I agree,” Lee says. “Right now would be a great time.”

 _Mark him,_ the Dragon continues.

“You can do that when you fuck me,” Lee insists. He shifts again, pushing his hips back invitingly.

_Make him see._

“I see your dick still isn’t in me,” Lee says pointedly. “I can go fuck myself, if you’d prefer that.”

 _No._ The Dragon drops to his knees and grips Lee’s ass in both hands, spreading him apart. Heat pools in his belly, prickling the back of his neck, possibilities whirling through his head and making him nearly dizzy with desire. He will make him understand.

“Finally,” Lee sighs, “I’ve been hard for a f— _oh_ , my _God_.” His sentence trails off into a shuddering moan as the Dragon, eager to draw more reactions from him, leans in and licks a broad stripe over his hole, once, twice, three times. His cock throbs with want as Lee keens, arching his back and pushing his hips back.as the Dragon licks into him with slow, careful strokes of his tongue.

“Fuck,” Lee is saying, his voice distant. “Fuck, oh, fuck, Rich, I need you to — God, you _asshole._ ” The Dragon’s teeth have left red marks in his flesh. He straightens up and moves closer, slick cock rubbing along the crease of Lee’s ass.

 _Do you want to feel me_? The Dragon asks. Lee’s breaths come out unsteady and harsh, so unlike his own. He is calm. He is in control.

“Please,” Lee breathes. “Please, yes.”

Satisfied, the Dragon buries himself to the hilt in Lee, who lets his head hit his forearm with a faint thud.

“Fuck, Richard,” Lee whispers. His voice is strained and his body taut, thuogh he is not in pain, welcoming the sudden press of the Dragon’s thighs against his. His body is hot like fire inside, yielding easily to the Dragon as he begins to move. He looks at himself in the mirror, at the red creeping down his chest and arms and his body disappearing behind the man who is kneeling before him, he feels unimaginably powerful once more, worthy of reverence. It sends hot licks of flame through his veins, a deep pleasure like no other.

He slides one hand up over the curve of Lee’s back, admiring the flesh rippling beneath his hand; then he leans down over Lee, effectively trapping him against the bench, his weight pinning him in place. He grinds his hips forward slowly, barely pulling out enough to create space between them before he slides back in, as deep inside as he can manage.

 _Do you see?_ He whispers against Lee’s ear. His rocks his hips forward, grinding against him, searching, and is rewarded with a full-body shudder and a moan that he can feel even in his own chest.

“I see you,” Lee groans. But he does not see, cannot see the Dragon’s work when his head is bowed and his gaze downcast. He can fix that.

The Dragon fists a hand in Lee’s hair and pulls back, forcing Lee, glassy-eyed and panting, to face the mirror once more. His hips snap in short, rhythmic thrusts now and he sinks his teeth into the meat of Lee’s shoulder, biting down until Lee cries out, a painful mirror of the bruises blooming red on his chest. He focuses on their reflection and watches them moving together, Lee’s mouth half-open, blissfully submissive as he splays his legs and braces himself against the bench and gives himself over completely to the Dragon, his cock hanging heavy and untouched between his thighs.

“I am,” Lee grits out, and is bitten again for being rude. The Dragon sees him watching now, sees Lee’s gaze crawling feverishly up over his muscled torso, and at the same time sees Lee’s hand creeping down toward his own cock.

 _Touch yourself,_ the Dragon urges. _Watch me._

Lee’s hips stutter as he takes hold of himself, alternating between grinding back against the Dragon and rocking into his own hand. He looks utterly wrecked in the mirror and the Dragon can feel the same desperation within himself too, an intense heat threatening to boil up inside him. He is hot all over. He moves faster.

“Fuck me,” Lee pants, pushing back firmly to meet the Dragon’s increasingly frantic thrusts, “Rich, fuck, come on —"

The Dragon roars in his ears and he straightens up to watch his own reflection unblinkingly, the front of his thighs slapping loudly against Lee’s once, twice, quicker, and then blinding light as a shudder wracks his body, his release exploding from him, carrying him like great webbed wings. He bites down again.

Lee moans hoarsely beneath him and shoves his hips back, arm working frantically just behind the reflection of the bench as he strokes himself to completion. “Yes, oh, God, yes, _fuck._ ”

Lee shudders suddenly, muscles jumping like live wires beneath the Dragon’s hands, shaking even as the Dragon’s forehead rests between Lee’s shoulder blades and they breathe together, slowly, until he is gone.

They spend many long seconds knelt together and, unsurprisingly, it’s Lee who shifts first, reaching back to pat one of the thighs that’s pinning him to the bench, startling him like a wave breaking on the beach. “Okay, Mr. Dragon, I need to get up.”

“Mmm,” Richard agrees. His head is a bit cloudy, like he’s been holding his breath for some time, and he only now feels the ache in his own knees. It can’t be comfortable hunched over the bench with another person on top. “Sorry.” The word still feels unpleasant in his mouth, though he is truly apologetic. He eases out of Lee as carefully as he can and sits back on his haunches as Lee climbs slowly and unsteadily to his feet, sweatpants gripped in one white-streaked hand and the other pressed flat against the bench for balance.

“It was going to be uncomfortable either way,” Lee reassures him. He pauses once he stands, grimacing as gravity threatens him in the familiar way that always makes sex without a condom only a fraction less appealing, and carefully begins to dress himself again. His shoulders are covered in red marks that shine in the light, and Richard can see one more set of teeth marks already darkening into a bruise on his ass. “God, it feels so great at the time, but after…” He glances at Richard once he’s managed to pull Richard’s sweatpants back on, and with a resigned sigh uses his shirt to clean up the few drops on the floor that he hadn’t managed to contain in his hand. “Do you want help?”

Richard hasn’t made any move to get up. Exhaustion is settling into his bones already and the prospect of having to shower before he can collapse into bed almost makes him want to curl up on the floor and call it an evening. His entire body aches and he’s sticky with sweat and lube and his own... yet still he feels some measure of satisfaction, though he can’t be sure if it’s a lingering trace of Dolarhyde’s consciousness or just part of the pleasant post-orgasmic haze.

“I think we should go home,” Richard says softly, though he knows home is far away from here; until he finishes filming Hannibal, Toronto is home — the empty bed at his hotel is home, the boardroom with Bryan and the rest of the fantastically talented cast is home, and even this small room set aside specially for him (courtesy of Bryan) on the other side of the city is home. Lee holds out a hand — dry now, thankfully, even though it wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t — and Richard takes it, letting Lee pull him to his feet. He does not, however, expect the way Lee stops to cradle his face in both hands once he’s standing, eyes tracking his face with quick, saccadic movements.

“Richard,” Lee murmurs.

It’s part of Lee’s way of grounding him after days spent in someone else’s head, and sometimes even after he spends too long in his own. He’d done it on the nights in London when Richard had woken up drenched in sweat, panicked about a wife he didn’t have to lose and a choice he’d never have to make about facing death with a clear conscience, and he’d done it even as far back as Wellington, when Thorin had kept Richard’s shoulders heavy with the weight of the dwarf’s long journey and found an unexpected companion in the Elvenking. Richard has been eternally thankful for it, and now, as always, he tries his best to give confirmation that he’s not lost at sea.

“I’m sorry about the biting,” Richard says. It’s truthful, and it might just be the best that he can do for now.

Lee smiles, all forgiveness and relief and tender warmth, and kisses him.

“You know I worry,” he says gently, once he’s finished pressing his lips to every corner of Richard’s sweaty face. “You’ve been spending a lot of time alone recently.”

Richard smiles guiltily. “It’s just part of the job,” he replies, and he’s telling the truth. Tonight might be the most social interaction Dolarhyde’s had all week. “I’m okay. Promise.”

Lee studies him for a further moment but nods finally, and lets Richard grab his own discarded pieces of clothing from the floor. When he finally manages to wrap himself up in a jacket to protect against the sub-zero Canadian temperatures, Lee pulls his hand away from his pocket and laces their fingers together.

Later, Lee will kiss him again, and again, and again, and let Richard lean heavy against him under the spray of the shower head. They’ll stand together, exhausted from a long week of filming and traveling and pretending to be somebody else, and they’ll appreciate the chance to be themselves together. Richard will imagine Lee’s fingers washing the ink from his back, the water running black and red and orange down his legs and swirling down the drain and taking the last vestiges of the Great Red Dragon with it. The rest of Francis Dolarhyde will go quiet in his mind soon after, self-consciousness and doubt leeched from the marrow of his bones, and will leave him with only the thought of a weekend spent in bed, with the only place he can truly call home stretched out next to him with long limbs and a lazy smile.

Lee will press Richard into the mattress and whisper his name over and over, pulling him from the shallow water and anchoring him ashore with soft kisses pressed to his palms, his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Richard will run his fingertips over the bruises on Lee’s chest and shoulders and Lee will shiver at his touch as he traces the marks, making sleepy noises of contentment instead of pain, and Richard will soothe them with apologies until Lee’s lips chase the words from his mouth and he is safe, once again, on dry ground.

**Author's Note:**

> Massive thanks to [brodinsons](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined) and [subliminal_flicker](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/subliminal_flicker) for reading, critiquing, and patiently tolerating my unrepentant lust for Dolarhyde character bleed, and also to [rimfaxi](http://www.rimfaxi.tumblr.com) for not tolerating it even a little bit. 
> 
> This one's for you, guys!


End file.
